


No, not without you

by Samcgrath



Series: I knew him [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, Fluff and Angst, Fridge Magnets, M/M, a few discussions about the Winter Soldier, and a little Stucky fluffiness, and blushing all the way through, contsant bickering and banter between Bucky and Sam, embarrassed and stuttering Steve Rogers, no but seriously though this is just one practical joke after another, poor Stevie trying to navigate his sexuality, recovering bucky, someone take these tags away from me, that's all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samcgrath/pseuds/Samcgrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been close to five months since Steve gave up his shield to protect Bucky. He's a wanted man, living in a house no one knows about, and trying to convince Tony and the world that Bucky is a victim too. Meanwhile, Sam and Bucky fight over fridge magnets and joke about pigeons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, not without you

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was supposed to be 3k or so of an alternate ending where Bucky doesn't get iced just because that's an easy way out. Instead, it has become this: 19k of unapologetic Sam and Bucky bickering, and a fluffy journey to Stucky. It does start off pretty heavy, but tapers into domestic bliss and practical jokes soon enough. 
> 
> A/N: This is my first fic in this fandom, and is purely fuelled by my anger towards the ending of CACW. If there's anything here you don't agree with, come talk to me on tumblr and I'll be sure to answer there: http://canloveyoumorethanstan.tumblr.com/ 
> 
> 1\. The gifs used in this fic are from http://firecrakerwish.tumblr.com/ and I just couldn't resist using them since they're so beautifully done. All the credit goes to Helena for these absolutely breath-taking gifs of Bucky. 
> 
> 2\. The fridge magnets in this are from google search, mostly from cafepress.com
> 
> 3\. I came across the twitter account of one Bucky Barnes, and let's just say that it was an enlightening experience. If you haven't already read their tweets, go do it now. You'll thank me. 
> 
> 4\. And erm, certain incidents in here (the really petty ones-*cough* the milk incident *cough*) are derived from incidents between myself and my little brother, and our--ahem--altercations.

“He doesn’t know where he fits in.”

“I couldn’t care less about your BFF’s existential crisis.” Tony trails his fingers along the edge of the table and shrugs effortlessly, but Steve can see the tension lurking underneath the carefully constrained movements.

He nods, agreeing with Tony. He wouldn’t be well prepared if he hadn’t come here expecting scathing barbs about Bucky at every step of this conversation. And he knows very well that this is nowhere near the worst Tony’s going to say today.

So, all he does is nod and move on. “I care because I know what he’s feeling, at least a part of it. When I came back, it was to an entirely new world. Had no clue how we’d gotten from the 40s to here, didn’t know what half the things people were saying meant, and being thrust into an unknown world and a new war to fight - I was so close to being lost. But I had anchors; I had people looking out for me, I had Peggy.”

It’s been months since she passed, but his breath still catches every time he thinks of her. She was the last link to his old life--well, a link that didn’t fill him with harrowing guilt and regret every time he looked at her.

Tony takes advantage of the pause and cuts right through his thoughts. “Look, Cap, this is not the time to get all emotional an--”

“It is. For me, it is.” He can see Tony’s mouth tightening at being cut off. Or maybe it’s because he was expecting this conversation to go a different route. Maybe, he was expecting an apology.

But after a lifetime of being told what to do and being made into a puppet, Steve is done doing everyone else’s bidding, it’s time to fight against the strings. And Tony Stark will have to listen.

“I’ve never slowed down to breathe since being back, never asked anyone to go slow for my sake even as I woke up in an unfamiliar world. I’ve always been the one chasing everyone else, lagging behind and coping with it. Now, I’m asking you to slow down.”

He looks Tony straight in the eye before saying the next part; it’s not something he’d say lightly. In fact, there are only a handful of people who’ll hear Steve Rogers say something like this. “I don’t think I can keep up anymore.”

A long silence stretches out between them, and the words seem to be sinking in second by ticking second. Finally, Tony steals his eyes away, walks around the table and goes to stand by the glass front of the building.

With his back to Steve, he asks: “What’re you saying exactly?”

He sighs, trying to come up with a way to explain to Tony that he feels tired in a way he hasn’t since before the serum. He feels bone-deep exhaustion when he looks at Bucky trying to navigate his way through this new life.

He says, “I’m saying that I look at him, and I see myself. He was thrust into this new world too, a machine made to kill and hurt people with no control over his mind--”

Tony’s turning around and pointing a finger at him before Steve’s even finished his thought: “Don’t you dare defend him on this!” His jaw is clenched; eyes fierce and that finger pointed accusingly right between Steve’s eyes.

“I’m not excusing his actions.”

Tony shakes his head disbelievingly; he scoffs at Steve’s words.

Steve continues because he’s not leaving here today without saying what he’s been stewing in for months. He has to say it; he has to say it for Bucky because no one else will.

“I’m saying he was in there somewhere, stuck inside his own head unable to stop himself from killing. Either that or he woke up one day and remembered killing hundreds of people. You can pick which one but regardless, now he has to live with the guilt.”

“If you’re expecting sympathy from me for the man who brutally murdered my parents, you’ll be waiting another 70 years.” Tony is staring him down, not an iota of sympathy in his features and Steve gets it. He does; he understands, but he has to try to make Tony see the other side. If anyone understands guilt, it’s Tony.

“It’s not my place to ask you to forgive him. That’s between you and him, but I do think that I can make you see what he is going through.”

“And what makes you think I care?”, asks Tony in that way he acts in front of the cameras and the world, pretending that he hasn’t a single care in the world.

“You’re Tony. You pretend that you don’t care, but you do. You cared for what happened to me, underneath all the layers of sarcasm and insults.”

There’s a slight smile on Tony’s face but it is gone in the blink of an eye, and then there’s only that mask he hides behind. Not the Iron Man mask, the Tony Stark one.

“You’re wrong. I will never care for my parents’ murderer.”

Steve has to be the one to concede here, he knows that. And he has never wanted to convince Tony to be friends with Bucky or forgive him - that was never something he dared hope for - but he does want Tony to try to understand how things came to be how they are.

So he concedes. “Okay. I won’t bring that up again.”

“You sure? Your undying love for your Bucky won’t compel you to try and guilt-trip me into forgiving him?”

Steve looks down at the ground to hide the smile that’s found its way onto his lips. He had known something like this will definitely be said, and Sam had bet him 50 bucks that the words ‘undying love’ will be uttered.

Shaking off the smile, he looks up and finds Tony’s eyes piercing through him. “No, that’s not what I’m trying to do.”

In true billionaire-playboy-philanthropist fashion, Tony pulls out a cigar out of his jacket’s inside pocket and puts it between his lips before asking, “What _are_ you trying to do, exactly?”

He sees it for what it is, a ploy to annoy him. Tony knows how much Steve hates it when he smokes inside the Tower and makes that awful smell cling to everything.

However, having this conversation is much more important than petty arguments right now and Steve can tell the exact moment Tony realizes it. His eyes widen in surprise, for the briefest moment, before he puts the unlit cigar down on the table.

Steve nods in gratitude and continues. “To make you see what’s behind that metal arm and the history of the Winter Soldier.”

“And why is it so important that I see it?”

“Because your father had a dream, and it led to his death--”

“Murder”, Tony corrects. His eyes are narrowed, he’s waiting for Steve to argue and disagree.

He doesn’t.

“Murder.” He concedes. “Bucky and I, we joined the army because we wanted to serve our country--”

“Please tell me you’re not going on a rant about your unrelenting patriotism that’s enough to power Stark Tower for a decade.”

“No, I’m not. But it’s true, we were young in a war torn world and we thought we owed it to this country to serve. Even me, the skinniest, sickest boy in Brooklyn. And we thought we’d serve in the war, do our duty and then come back to a victorious country to start our new lives. Except that never happened, did it? At least, I came back as a hero. But Bucky, he woke up 70 years later to someone calling him a name that seemed somewhat familiar while he’s trying to kill that someone.”

“Yes, what a tortured saint he is, poor soul.” Tony rolls his eyes so hard that there’s a moment when Steve’s worried they’re going to roll right out of his head.

“He’s not, I’m not saying that. He saved me in that river but left me there, probably didn’t know what to do when he heard me say a name he recognised on some subconscious level.” Tony yawns as if he’s being told the most boring story of all time but Steve doesn’t stop. He has to say this, and can only hope that Tony’s listening. “He hasn’t told me but I think he had flashbacks after that. I think he saw us before the war, before the serum. Rumlow said he remembered me--”

“Is this little love story going anywhere, Cap?” Tony yawns again and gestures at him to get on with it.

Steve sighs and continues, “He came back to a world he didn’t recognise, being hunted by people he didn’t recognise and having nightmares about himself killing people he didn’t recognise.”

“Am I supposed to be shedding tears for him?”, comes the biting response.

“When have you ever listened to what someone has told you to do?” Steve offers him a half smile, hoping to lighten the mood a little.

He and Tony have argued more than anyone in the Avengers and he knows Tony can take it. But maybe, everything that’s happened in the last few months has changed that because Tony doesn’t smile back. He doesn’t even scoff.

Instead, he raises an eyebrow and sucks at his teeth, all serious. “Easy now, you’re the one pitching here, Cap.”

He has to convince Tony, he has to make him see the truth. If there’s a slight pleading tone seeping into his voice, it doesn’t matter. He has to do this for Bucky.

“He has been surviving in a world that’s trying to kill him, by himself. I remember when I first saw an ipod. Had so many questions and all I had to do was ask Nat. He hasn’t had that, hasn’t had a single person around him.”

“Oh, boo-hoo. He’s a trained killer, I don’t care if he doesn’t have a cuddle buddy.”

Tony is holding on tight to his beliefs and the way he keeps joking about everything Steve’s saying tells him that he’s making a conscious choice to not take any of this seriously. Steve isn’t sure how many more times he can ignore the belittling comments, while trying to make a point.

“You’re right in thinking that. He is a trained killer, except he didn’t consent to be one. He didn’t agree to let them torture him, fry his brains, make him into a machine that kills on their command, no questions asked. And to be thrown away once he’s served his purpose.”

“He’s been buying fucking plums in Romania. I think he’s been just fine.”

“No memory of who he is or where he is, and coming back to this shitty little apartment he’s living in to find soldiers firing at him. And then taken into custody, brain washed once again like he was multiple times, and finally hunted for another crime he committed while being tortured.”

“You mean when he choked my mother with his bare hands? Is that the crime you’re talking about here?”, hisses Tony. His eyes are wet and he’s clenching his jaw.

Steve moves to stand closer to him, can’t help but whisper: “Tony--”

“You said you’re not going to tell me to forgive him.”

He pulls up a chair beside Tony, sits down to get closer to the man.

“And I’m not. You’re right, he did do that. He did that and he’s woken up every night for the last five months screaming and begging not to be tortured again.”

“Have you been there to hold his hand through it all?”

“He is my friend and I have been there for him.”

“I was your friend once.”

“You still are.”

“Sure about that?”

“I am. But if you want me to abandon him just like everyone else has done, I won’t. He’s still trying to piece together everything that happened, everything he did and I’m going to stand beside him till he needs me to.”

“You’re willing to be labelled a fugitive, just to hold his hand through all this?”

“I know you’re hurting, Tony. And I am sorry for what happened, and for keeping it from you. I know this isn’t nearly enough but I do hope that you’ll eventually see where I’m coming from.”

“That’s highly unlikely.”

“I’ll wait.”

“You’ll be waiting a long time, Cap.”

“Then so be it.”

***  
“I know half of what you’re feeling. When I came back and life had settled a little, and I had some time to myself, I realized that I didn’t know who I was in this world, either. I was alone. Everyone I knew was either dead or on a deathbed. I bought his bike, it was fast--faster than anything I’d ever seen and I used to ride it for hours with no set destination in mind. I thought if I went fast enough, maybe it’ll take me somewhere...somewhere that felt like home.”

He looks up through the long strands of hair falling into his face, and quietly asks: “Did it?”

Steve laughs at the question, at the naivety behind the words. “Yes and no. I went to Brooklyn a few times, walked around the strange streets that I’d known once but they were so different that it didn’t even feel like Brooklyn anymore. Hey, you know where else I went?”

Bucky shakes his head and asks, “Where?” with the tamed excitement of a child who wants to know something but is too afraid to show just how badly.

Steve has seen this expression on his face a dozen times and every time, it’s like looking into his very soul.

He’s also aware of his own anticipation and expectations showing on his face. He doesn’t want to look overly hopeful and put too much pressure on Bucky to remember.

So he leans back into the couch and crosses his legs in front of him, trying to relax and keep the tension out of his body. If he looks relaxed and like he’s sharing just another story, Bucky won’t feel like he has to remember. Like he’s letting Steve down by not remembering.

“Coney Island”, he says, watching for any signs of recognition in the eyes staring at him.

He doesn’t seem to remember, and Steve reminds himself to not look disappointed. Instead, he tells Bucky all about the day he had spent on the Island last year.

“Luna Park was burnt up in a fire in ‘44, they had these plaques there--these photos from the war and I saw some of our guys in them - from the 107th. It was so unexpected, so unbelievable that I was looking at some of those faces.”

Bucky’s listening attentively, nodding along with a look on his face that tells Steve that he’s trying to remember. So, he wracks his brain, thinking about what else he might remember with a little push.

“And the Cyclone, they renovated it. Do you know how much it costs to ride it now? 9 dollars! 9 dollars for one ride, Buck!”

His steel blue eyes widen in surprise or excitement, Steve’s not sure, and there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “9 dollars? That’s so much!”

“I know! We rode it twice for 3 bucks!”

And then there’s silence, the seconds tick by and Steve watches his face as recognition slowly seeps in. He looks up with wide eyes, looks straight at Steve and whispers, “I remember the cyclone.”

Steve almost wants to cry, feels that little twitch in his nose which means he could cry any moment and it’s alright, he thinks.

This feels like coming home, but he doesn’t say that. Doesn’t want to overwhelm Bucky when he’s only just remembered a happy memory.

He takes a deep breath, willing the tears away and is about to excuse himself when Bucky speaks in that apprehensive way he does sometimes, “Where else did you go?”

“I went to the museum, the one you went to too.”

Recognition flares in his eyes once again and he simply nods, as if remembering his own trip to the Smithsonian.

Steve takes that as a sign to continue, “When I saw the exhibit on Captain America, I felt pride but also this sense of loss. Like I had given up things to become Captain America, and I know that sounds like I’m not grateful but it’s not that. I will always be grateful to Howard and the others for choosing me.” Bucky tenses up at Howard’s name so Steve quickly changes the subject to something he’d never thought he’d share with anyone.

“I also saw your name there and this old photo of us--I remember standing there frozen as the crowds moved around me. I just looked at you and thought, ‘what would Bucky think of this world? What would he think of Nirvana? Of these tall buildings and these superfast cars?’”

“I like the cars”, he says and they both burst out laughing.

And it’s a good day.

***

“No! No, no, not again! Please don’t--no!”

He runs into the room and flicks the light on to find Bucky thrashing around on the bed like he’s being hurt. But there’s no one in the room and no one’s hurting him, Steve knows that. Still, he finds himself looking around the room, just in case.

He also knows that Bucky is reliving the torture inside his head, and his body won’t stop moving and thrashing around till Steve jumps onto the bed and holds him down.

He’s the only one strong enough.

So, just like he has for the past five months, he jumps onto the bed and throws off the sheets before settling himself between the wall and Bucky. This way he isn’t blocking Buck’s way to the door, and he knows how much Bucky always needs to be close to the exits.

He lays down, puts his arms around the thrashing body next to his - it takes a few minutes, Bucky keeps throwing him off and hitting him, lashing out and leaving blood and bruises behind that’ll disappear soon enough - and finally manages to wrap his legs around Bucky’s.

That doesn’t stop the whimpers though, and it doesn’t stop the screams. That’ll come later, he knows. It’ll come once Bucky slowly comes out of the nightmare and registers where he is.

Then, they’ll lie side by side in the deafening silence of the house and pretend that the other one is asleep.

But for now, Bucky needs Steve to hold him down and ignore the chilling screams.

So he does.

***  
Sam’s reading the morning paper over a bowl of cereal when Steve walks into the kitchen. It’s a bright day outside and the sunlight streaming in through the large windows is a happy reminder that summer is on its way.

“Cap.” Sam doesn’t look up from his paper as he acknowledges the new presence.

Steve mumbles a good morning and goes to fetch fruit to make a salad. The cool air from the fridge on his face is such a contrast to the sweaty night he’d spent caught between the wall and the furnace-like heat of the body next to him that he finds himself abruptly getting up and slamming the fridge door – not wanting to linger on those thoughts.

Turning around, he finds Sam watching him over the paper with a raised eyebrow.

“‘m fine”, he mumbles but Sam doesn’t look away. Instead, he leans to the side on his barstool to look down at Steve’s bare feet. The second eyebrow joins the first one. “Again?”

Steve just sighs.

It’s happened too many times for them to need words to talk about it.

More mornings than not, Steve wanders out into the kitchen bare feet because he’d rushed into Bucky’s room in the middle of the night and not bothered to put on his slippers.

Sam had tried to help the first few times before Steve had hesitantly explained that unless Sam wanted to cuddle Bucky, he should just lock his bedroom door and ignore the blood curdling screams echoing through the house.

Since then, Sam has been really good about it. He doesn’t say anything in front of Bucky, doesn’t look at him like he heard the screams. And Steve is very grateful for it.

What he isn’t grateful for are the fridge magnets that Sam keeps buying from somewhere and sticking them on Bucky’s left arm, making him angry and short every morning. Every single morning, Bucky wakes up to find a fridge magnet stuck to his arm and every morning, Sam giggles when Bucky rips the magnet off and throws it in the garbage.

Well, at least it keeps the atmosphere lighter than it was that first month, he supposes.

“It’s fine, he’s getting better.” He turns on the tap to wash the plums, and if the sound of running water also cuts off whatever Sam was about to say, well Steve didn’t do it on purpose.

Pulling a knife out of the drawer, he starts cutting into the apples. Sam seems to take the hint and doesn’t offer anything else about the sleeping arrangements in this house.

When the silence gets a little too thick, Steve gestures towards the newspaper. “Anything good?”

Sam hums thoughtfully before folding the paper and looking right at Steve, “Tony’s attending a summit in Oslo today, still working on the Sokovia Accords. They’re saying this’ll be the deciding vote on whether the Avengers will be signing…”

Steve’s hand hesitates over the apple, knife hovering an inch above the fruit when he catches a moving shape out of the corner of his eye. He looks up to find Bucky standing just outside his room, listening to Sam who finally catches on and cuts himself off with a quick, “--oh, hey, man.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, he just stands there frozen on the spot staring at Sam.

Steve puts down the knife and walks out from behind the kitchen counter, wiping his hands on the towel as he goes. Sam gets the message and buries his head in his paper again as Steve walks up to Bucky.

“All good?”, Steve whispers. 

He’s expecting a grunt or maybe even a _yeah, sure_ in response but what he gets is, “I don’t know if I’m worth all this, Steve.”

The uncertainty in his voice and the question in his eyes drive the words home in a way that takes Steve back to a time when he was the one telling Bucky he wasn’t worth all the trouble.

Bucky would fight his fights for him, would sit by his bedside when he was sick with something or another, and he’d always brush it off when Steve’d say anything about not being worth Bucky’s time.

Now, it’s his turn to return the favour.

“You are,”, he says with more conviction than he has felt in decades because there is so much in the world he is not sure about - omnipresent computer technology, iphones, the whole idea behind the Sokovia Accords, sushi, and so much more - but this he is absolutely certain about.

Without thinking too much, he reaches up and pushes a rebellious strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear and whispers, “Worth all this and much more.”

Bucky freezes, his eyes wide and piercing right through Steve. 

He pulls his hand away and offers Buck a half-smile before turning around and going back to his fruit salad. He can see Bucky out of the corner of his eye, still standing at the same spot. A nervous mix of anxiety and anticipation have made a home inside his chest. But he tries to focus on the task - he is wielding a very sharp knife, super healing or not - and doesn’t look up.

Across the counter, Sam keeps pointedly clearing his throat to get Steve’s attention which he does try to ignore but when Sam doesn’t stop, he sighs and looks up to find the man childishly wiggling his eyebrows which makes him roll his eyes because, _really?_

While he’s been busy engaging in a battle of wills with Sam, Bucky has walked across the room and sat down beside Sam, without either of them noticing. And when Steve brings himself to look at him, his face is a blank mask. No indication at all of how he feels about what’s just happened.

Steve doesn’t let disappointment colour his features even as the voice inside his head is saying _he doesn’t want that, he doesn’t want you.._

He just smiles at Bucky and adamantly pushes the other thoughts out of his mind.

Sam giggles like a child as Bucky rips off today’s magnet and throws it somewhere behind the living room table.

 

 

***

Nat is the only person besides Tony who has tried to talk to him about Bucky. Everyone else either looks at him disapprovingly or completely ignores the Bucky sized space that’s now an integral part of his life.

He’s okay with it, for the most part. No one except Sam knows where he’s living so the only time he sees the rest of them is when he visits the Tower or when Sam sets up a video conference. So really, he only feels their judgement from miles away and never when he’s at home with Bucky.

Nat, despite her best efforts, finds it hard to keep her nose out of it. She starts off by looking at him a little worriedly and then slowly graduates to asking him vaguely relevant questions like if he still jogs as much as he used to and whether he does it with someone or by himself.

A week of these roundabout inquiries and Steve runs out of patience. When he sighs and tells her Bucky doesn’t like jogging, she tries to look all baffled but that secret little smile breaks right through the facade.

After that, she takes to asking him about Bucky very directly. He nods in all the right places and avoids giving her too much information but it all comes to a head when she asks him if he and Tony have talked since their fight.

He considers ignoring the question but given the fact that she’ll just go and ask Tony next, he decides to tell her about their conversation.

“And have you tried to see it from his perspective?”, is her response to Steve explaining that all he wants is for Tony to consider what Bucky has been through.

“Of course, I have. I know that he must be crushed, knowing that Bucky was involved in his parents’ death. But he’s come around in the last few months, at least he doesn’t want to kill Bucky anymore. And I am not trying to excuse what Buck did, I just…”

He sighs in frustration, doesn’t know how many more times he can plead the same case.

She nods in understanding, “I know. We all do, we saw how badly you wanted to find him. But we also can’t look away from his actions as the Winter Soldier.”

“And I’m not asking you to. I’m just hoping that you’ll realize that he was not in control during any of that. He was tortured to do those things.”

She doesn’t react in any way, just stands there beside him silently contemplating whatever’s going through her mind.

A moment later, she looks up at him and says, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, not knowing what she’ll say next. He’s hoping he hasn’t inadvertently let anything dangerous slip.

“I know that you were close before the war, I know you fought alongside him but was that enough? I mean when you found out what he’d done and what he had become, didn’t you question it at all?”

“I did. All those years ago, I saw him fall in front of my very eyes - a memory I carried with me into the ice. I’d thought he was long dead so when I ripped that mask off the Winter Soldier and saw his face, I doubted myself. But he didn’t even recognize his own name and that’s when I knew that he wasn’t himself. That whatever he was doing wasn’t in his control. I just wanted to find him so I could look him in the eye and ask him if he remembered being Bucky.”

She nods, that pensive look back on her face. She doesn’t say it but he can see the question in her eyes: _why_

“When I had nothing, I had Bucky. He protected me back then, before the serum. He’d find me beaten and bruised in alleys, fighting with people three times my size and he’d come and save my ass. Now, I’m going to protect him. I am going to save him. And no one will ever knock him down on his knees and push him to the ground, not while I’m around.”

She doesn’t ask him again.

***

What she does ask him is: “How’s Sam handling all this?”

He hopes his exhaustion is very clear in his words when he answers her. “Well, he’s exhausted all puns about hands and arms already, and quite a few possibilities of jokes about the arm.”

“Any good ones?”, she asks, biting the corner of her lip.

He looks disapprovingly at her but the smile on her face just makes him smile back and he whispers, “Well, this one time he made Bucky sit out on the balcony, shirtless, and a pigeon -- well, a pigeon pooped on his arm.”

Natasha bursts out laughing and through her wheezing, puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and blurts out, “Pass Wilson a message for me?”

He nods, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Tell him he can call me any time living with you two gets to be a bit much.”

The protest dies on his tongue the second he remembers the incident from this morning when Bucky had taken Sam’s Falcon suit and put it in the dishwasher. And the epic meltdown that had ensued leading to Sam practically crying and Steve having to ask Bucky to apologise.

“Right, I’ll do that.”

  
***

***

Someone somewhere thought it’d be a good idea to stick him in a room with a journalist who wants to catch him saying he’s made a huge mistake in not signing the Accords.

That someone is Nick Fury, and he has given Steve a choice: do this or he’ll hunt Bucky down and make sure he gets punished. And as much as Steve’s ready to fight the world to keep his friend safe, he doesn’t know if he should be fighting this at all. So he talked about it with Sam who agreed that talking to the journalist would be the smart choice here.

And that’s why he’s sat opposite a twenty-something year old reporter in a brightly lit conference room at the Tower.

“So how does someone go from being the All-American hero to a wanted fugitive? I mean, you of all people were expected to sign the Accords before everyone else!”

He shrugs.

“Is that all you have for an answer?”, comes the surprised response.

He has a million things to say but every single time he has tried to say them, he’s been ignored or shot down or called a liar. It’s been over seven months since he finally found Bucky, and everyone still thinks he didn’t sign the Accords so he could help Bucky escape justified punishment.

“I could tell you why I didn’t want to sign but you’d tell me I was lying to hide something. And I’m done defending my choices in front of people who won’t listen.”

His eyes bulge at Steve’s response, probably because they all come expecting the nice guy who never raises his voice or never gets angry even when he’s accused of doing things he didn’t do.

He’s quiet for a second, thinking something over before his eyes fly up to meet Steve’s and he says: “Okay, I’ll listen. I’ll hear you out and then if I don’t believe you, I’ll tell you to your face why I don’t believe you. You can set me straight.”

At least he’ll get a chance to clarify whatever lies everyone seems to think he’s been telling. He knows he should just walk away, let them think what they want but he thinks of Bucky.

Bucky, who deserves to live freely like the rest of them, and who has a right to live like a person rather than a hunted animal.

“Fine. I didn’t sign because I’ve seen governments fail in every possible way in my lifetime. I’ve seen corruption, I’ve seen spies taking over organisations, and I’ve seen HYDRA at its worst. So when the Secretary came with a piece of paper _three days_ before a law was due to pass - three days, meaning no one had time to actually read what was in the Accords and definitely not see the fine print - saying some committee somewhere will decide where we go and who we save, I knew I wasn’t going to sign. I’ve already given up too much to fight for freedom, I am not going to give up my freedom too.”

“So you think an organisation like the UN could be corrupt? That it could fall?”

There is so much naivety and arrogance in those words, Steve remembers being this naive and yes, this arrogant. He used to think America was the land of freedom, used to think the government was the purest form of authority. And then, he saw the world for what it is.

“Son, I’ve seen SHIELD rotting from the inside out. What makes you think any authority can’t be bought?”

He scoffs like Steve is making up far-fetched claims, like he’s a confused man in his old age making up conspiracy theories. Well, good thing he’s got a living, breathing example of failed authority at home. An example who is still piecing together memories from a life he doesn’t remember, and trying to make peace with a life that he can’t forget.

The reporter leans back in his chair with a smug look on his face, a classic move for someone who thinks he’s about to deliver the winning blow to an opponent. For a moment, Steve wonders if his calling the reporter ‘son’ has anything to do with the fire behind the brown eyes looking at him.

“So you’d rather that innocent people die than give up the right to play god and blow up buildings with innocent civilians inside?”

He feels himself getting angry, feels warmth spreading across his chest and up his neck. He can’t lose his cool like this, he can’t.

“I will never stand for the killing of innocent people, regardless of where I stand on the Accords. Innocent people have died during our missions and I, along with everyone else, am extremely apologetic for it. None of us wants to harm innocent people. And it is my belief that signing the Accords would only make innocent deaths more common--”

“What?!”

“Does anyone need a reminder of what happened the last time a government organization was infiltrated piece by piece for seventy years without a single person noticing?”

He looks like he’s been slapped across the face, and of course the reaction to that is the venom in his voice when he asks, “So you’re saying your war buddy turned HYDRA assassin had nothing to do with your decision to decline the Accords?”

Ah, there is.

“I’m not denying he was a part of it. But he was not why I refused to sign. If he wasn’t in the picture, I still wouldn’t have signed without at least some negotiation. And I already told you my reasons behind saying no.”

He nods, considering Steve’s answer but it’s clear from his face that he doesn’t believe it. And sure enough, he zeroes in on the one thing everyone has been chanting like a mantra.

“So where does he come in, then? Because surely, he’d be caught and punished, maybe even killed, if you had signed the Accords.”

“Punished for crimes he committed while being tortured,”, he’s saying before he’s had a chance to think. Maybe it’s because he’s been saying this in his head long enough that it’s become an instinct. Or maybe he’s whispered it to Bucky often enough that he doesn’t need to think about it anymore.

“Are you saying he doesn’t deserve punishment?” There’s thinly veiled anger underneath those words, and Steve knows he’s making a lot of people angry by saying this but he’s waited patiently for the world to come to this conclusion on its own and it hasn’t.

“Not if everyone is going to conveniently forget what HYDRA did to him, how they experimented on him and how he couldn’t even remember who he was.”

“Does that justify the murders committed by the Winter Soldier?”

“I never said it was justified, I said it was HYDRA who caused those deaths. Do you know what it does to a person when they’re tied up in a chair and electric current is passed through their body, and through a metal arm connected to that body for seven decades? Can you imagine living through that with no end in sight?”

The man doesn’t stir, and he doesn’t look like he’ll be interrupting Steve’s next words so he continues, “Bucky is a victim too, who had his brain fried every time he finished a mission just to make sure he’d stay a weapon and not become a person.”

“So you believe that he should not be held responsible for his crimes?”

“You’re twisting my words. I’m saying the world shouldn’t persecute him for things he did under extreme torture.”

“And if we do?”

“Then, you’ll have to go through me.”

***

It’s splashed across the front page of every newspaper and every channel on television: **_Cap’s declaration - Will have to go through me to get to fugitive Winter Soldier_**

Steve had expected as much, but what he hadn’t expected is for a considerable number of people to be agreeing with him. It’s nowhere near the number or the intensity of the people who want Bucky to be punished, but there are enough for there to be a stir.

He tries to ignore the constant barrage of news reports with people either sounding sympathetic or people demanding Bucky to be put back on ice. He does his best to look the other way, and to change the channel before Bucky sees any of it.

Steve’s sure that he has seen it, but thankfully he hasn’t approached Steve again and told him he isn’t worth it. He’s mostly thankful because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to walk away if he has to see the vulnerability in Bucky’s eyes again. If he’ll be able to walk away and not do something stupid.

Sam has been quietly supportive through it all, he hasn’t brought up the news reports or the headlines in every morning’s newspaper. In fact, he’s been talking to Bucky a lot more even though most of it is thinly disguised insults and childish quarreling but it’s still a lot livelier in the house than before.

Sometimes Steve comes out to the living room to find the two of them sitting on the couch, quietly watching something on the tv. Eventually of course, they’ll start arguing over the remote but it’s still nice to see Bucky doing mundane everyday things like watching films. He still does that wide eyed amazement thing, sits in front of the huge flat screen tv and looks at it like he’s seeing it for the first time.

He also keeps asking Sam questions about modern things he knows nothing of. Usually, Sam will exaggerate or make up things that’ll leave a shocked and/or baffled Bucky behind. And then it’s up to Steve to set him right.

Just last week, Sam had decided he wanted to liven up the house with a few wall decorations. His idea of wall decorations was newspaper clippings of the Avengers permanently glued to the walls. And he’d covered half the living room wall and abandoned that project by the time Steve had found him supergluing things to Bucky’s left arm.

His defence was “Buddy here wanted to know what’s superglue so I showed him.” It’d taken Steve a full hour to peel off magnets and newspaper bits and stationery and even the tv remote that Sam had superglued to the metal arm.

The week before that had been a little funny, but still an inconvenience. They’d gone out late at night to get groceries and Sam had insisted they go through the automated machine checkout, probably to enjoy two out-of-place soldiers struggling with the checkout machine.

Steve has to admit, he’s a little wary of them. As much as he’s seen Tony working on unbelievable technology, JARVIS was always a difficult pill to swallow for Steve, he prefers going through a cashier who won’t start beeping if he does something wrong.

Case in point, when he’d stood in front of the self-checkout and it’d asked him to place the tomatoes on the scanner, he’d started and jumped away from the thing.

The only person who was even more baffled than him was Bucky as he’d stood glaring at the checkout - while Steve struggled with it - for five minutes before leaning in and asking Sam how it worked. Whatever Sam had told him had resulted in Bucky bending down to bring his face very close to the checkout machine and announcing, “My name is Bucky. I want to buy three of those chicken and cheese burgers with ketchup.”

Steve hadn’t been able to hold it in that time, and the confused look on Bucky’s face when the machine had just said, “Please place your next item on the scanner", it hadn’t really helped.

“I want to buy three chicken and cheese burgers. Give me burgers.”

Sam’d been in the background laughing, completely losing his shit as Bucky got progressively louder and more aggressive at the machine, demanding burgers.

Yes, that was a good one, he will concede.

Today’s topic is Netflix.

“It’s a thing on the internet; remember I told you about internet last week?”

Bucky nods slowly, probably remembering what Sam had told him - _‘after the moon landing, we left some people there and we have houses and hotels and stuff on the moon now. Anyway, the moon people send us messages like through a telegraph. That’s what the internet is’_ \- and then what Steve had corrected - _‘There are no people living on the moon, Buck. Hold on, let me get my laptop, I’ll show you what the internet is’._

“Yeah,”, he says when it seems to come back to him.

Well, Steve hadn’t gotten his laptop back for two days and when he’d finally found it, the search history was just question after question about the moon landing, aliens, jabba the hut and what is a calculator and extended research about Harry Potter. So, Bucky definitely knows something about the internet by now.

Sam’s excited voice breaks Steve’s inner monologue. “So Netflix is like this secret organization of agents who recommend you films to watch. You know how they know what you’d like? They send someone to follow you around to see what you buy at the market and who you are dating and--

“Sam...”

He snaps his mouth shut the second he sees Steve standing there behind the sofa, hands on his hips.

“Hey, I was just telling Robocop here about Netflix.” Even though he knows that Steve heard him lying to Bucky, his face doesn’t betray his thoughts for even a second.

And of course, Bucky being Bucky has believed every word. “Isn’t that dangerous? If they send someone to follow me, they’ll know where I am.”

Steve doesn’t know how to tell Bucky that the people from Netflix won’t send someone to stalk him so they can recommend him films. Sam, as usual, is snickering behind Bucky and Steve just sighs and walks away, shaking his head.

Later when the two of them are sitting out on the balcony, drinking beer and looking out at the beautiful scenery, Steve turns to Bucky and asks, “Why do you keep asking him these things when you know he lies? Why not just ask me?”

He shrugs but doesn’t say anything for a while. Then, sensing Steve’s eyes on his face, he turns and answers: “I don’t want to disturb you every time I have a question.”

“Do you know how many months after being back I carried this little notebook with me everywhere I went?” He takes the black notebook out of his pocket, most pages full of questions and scribbles. He holds it out to Bucky who takes it and leafs through it.

His face shows signs of recognition once in awhile and he hums thoughtfully in some places. Then, closing the diary, he tries to hand it back to Steve who motions for him to keep it.

“How long have you had it?”, he asks Steve, opening the notebook again.

“Two years. And I’d write everything I didn’t understand or wanted to know more about in this notebook. And then I’d find Nat or Bruce, and I’d ask them. Slowly, I started crossing things off as I began to understand this new world.”

“Oh.”

“And there are still things I have no clue about. For instance, people keep talking about doritos to me and I don’t know why and no one will tell me.”

“Doritos?” He looks truly puzzled, brows furrowed and mouth pouting, it’s adorable and innocent and cute--and Steve should slow down with the beer.

“Yeah, I know.” He puts the half-filled bottle down; Bucky’s eyes track the movement but he doesn’t say anything. “Anyway, what I’m trying to say is: you can ask me a question any time. I want you to ask me, Buck. Please.”

“Okay.”

He smiles at his friend, feeling a sense of lighthearted joy floating through him.

He isn’t feeling so light-hearted or joyous when Bucky wakes him up from a mid-day nap to ask him what is a Vanilla Ice.

He can hear Sam laughing in the other room.

***

 

***

He wakes up to a constant ringing noise and the first thing he notices after opening his eyes is the sunlight. The room is so bright, too bright to be Bucky’s because he’s only got a window on the south side and Steve usually wakes up squished into the wall which means darkness so this isn’t Bucky’s room.

He sits up abruptly, looking around to realize that he’s in his room. He’s waking up in his bed.

The next thing that comes to mind is Bucky-- _is he okay? Is he still here? Was he taken in the middle of the night? Is that why he didn’t scream--_

And before his brain can come up with more terrible scenarios, he’s rushing out of bed and running into Bucky’s room to find the bed empty.

_Oh no. No no n--_

There’s a noise from the kitchen, _are they still here?_

He squares his shoulders, slinks out of the room and towards the living room, ready to fight. Just as he rounds the corner, hands curled into fists and heart pounding in his chest, he sees Sam sitting at his usual breakfast spot.

Without making a single sound, he leans a little further to look around Sam. Bucky’s standing at the kitchen counter, a knife in his hand chopping something and head bobbing along to the faint sound of music coming from somewhere.

The relief that courses through him is immense and it comes out in a rough exhale. They both look up at the sound to see Steve standing there, probably with his hair sticking up from sleep and ready to have a boxing match with imaginary threats.

Suddenly feeling very self-conscious, he lowers his hands and pretends like he didn’t just walk into the room expecting to fight highly-trained special ops soldiers.

Sam bursts out laughing when he realizes what’s happened, while Bucky looks at him for a second and then goes back to his chopping.

Okay, then.

He clears his throat and backs out of the room without a word. So, Bucky’s okay and Sam’s here. Okay. Guess, he doesn’t need to fight anyone this morning.

It’s a weird feeling: standing here in the middle of his house, not knowing where to go and what to do. It’s just so unusual waking up on his own, not having to check if Bucky’s sleeping okay, to make breakfast for everyone.

He almost doesn’t know what to do now.

Well, start with the bathroom, his brain supplies, and he pads down the hall to what he imagines normal people do every morning.

The face looking back at him in the mirror is very unflattering - half lidded eyes, hair sticking up every which way, and pillow creases on his face. Sighing, he goes to do his business.

It’s progress, he supposes. It’s a huge step forward that Bucky didn’t need him; that he woke up on his own and started making breakfast. It’s definitely progress and Steve is happy for him, there’s nothing else lurking under the surface.

He goes back to the living room, not half-asleep and in fight-mode this time. He’s put on a new tee-shirt, he’s got slippers on for once and his hair is somewhat tamed.

Sam peeks up from his paper, gives him a slow once over and smirks before going back to whatever he was reading. Steve would ask what’s the meaning of that smirk but he decides he’s better off not knowing.

So he shuffles over to the other side of the counter, next to Bucky. Neither of them says anything, and Bucky doesn’t stop chopping but Steve can see a half smile on his lips. And he feels something wiggling in his stomach, _is it giddiness that he feels?_

Right, the best thing to do is...go hide in the fridge.

The cool air is a welcome distraction and so is the food, if he was mentally present enough to be looking at the food. Instead, he’s thinking of the warmth slowly spreading through his chest and--

“You digging a tunnel in there, Cap?” He jumps at Sam’s very pointed question but pretends like he was just fetching milk out of the fridge.

“Looking for this,”, he mumbles, raising the carton of milk while his eyes are clearly telling Sam to cut it out. 

Sam chuckles in response and shakes his head like he’s judging Steve. Well, he hasn’t really flirted with anyone in six decades--not that that’s what he’s doing. He isn’t.

_Dammit._

At least, Bucky seems oblivious to his inner struggle. He has now moved on to dicing tomatoes and he looks a picture - concentrated expression full with the furrowed brows, a five o’clock shadow and hair tied up in a bun-- _wait._

His hair’s tied up, Steve can see his face without having to lean down and look through the hair falling in his face. Oh god, he looks just like the old Bucky now.

He looks better than the old Bucky.

And Steve is definitely staring. He should look away and say something to make this less awkward.

“You’ve tied up your hair.”

Sam snorts, mouths _really_ at him. Steve wants to hit his own head on the kitchen counter and just pass out, away from the embarrassment. With a flaming face and a very likely possibility of spontaneously combusting from embarrassment, he turns away to get himself a glass.

Behind him, Bucky quietly says, “I did.”

Steve returns to his side with a less of a flaming face, sneaking sidelong glances at a face that looks so much more familiar than it has in the last seven months. Bucky’s eyes were always so gripping, he’d look at you with that piercing gaze and you wouldn’t be able to look away.

Steve hasn’t really seen those eyes behind the long hair but now that he can, he’s not sure how to tear his eyes away. And the stubble, that’s new. They had to shave every single day in the army, there’s no way anyone would let them grow a beard.

But now that he’s looking at Bucky with a dark stubble, he really can’t help but think--“It looks good.”

He’s said that out loud.

He has just said that out loud.

_Can the floor just open now and swallow him whole?_

Bucky smiles down at his tomatoes and says nothing. A single strand comes undone from his bun and falls forward onto his face and the urge to reach forward and touch is too strong. Apparently, he can’t handle Bucky looking like Bucky and being domestic and just yeah.

He picks up the forgotten glass of milk and walks away from all of this.

He doesn’t care that Sam is chuckling behind his back or that Bucky has just asked him why.

_He needs some air._

***

***

Sam walks into the kitchen to see the two senior citizens standing in front of a cupboard that he’d tried opening last week but it was locked. He’s been curious about it ever since, seems like he’s about to get some answers so he settles on a barstool with his chin resting on his hands and looks on.

“Bucky, what’s in that cupboard?”, Steve asks in a very mellow tone.

In response, his best friend almost bites his head off with a snapped, “None of your business.”

Okay, that definitely makes him sit up and pay attention because whatever it is, it’s going to be good. Thankfully, Steve and Bucky are both engrossed in their own conversation and pay him no mind as he slurps from the milkshake he’s just got from Mickey D’s down the block.

Steve moves a little closer to Bucky and very very softly, asks: “Erm, can I open it?”

He just gets a death glare in return, so he hesitantly reaches up to open the cupboard and immediately gets showered in fridge magnets.

Sam’s snorting an Oreo milkshake out of his nose at the image of Captain America defending himself against a rain of fridge magnets while Bucky stands there glowering at the fallen American hero.

Quickly cleaning up the milkshake mess, Sam gets off the barstool and takes out his phone to call the one person who will definitely find it as funny as he does.

“He was hoarding fridge magnets, Natasha, there’s a whole cupboard full! Steve just got buried under them!”

“Sam, get off the phone and help me!”

“I gotta go, I’ll take a pic and send it to you!”

***

 

***

“Why does your friend keep asking me about cats?”

Steve has to bite his cheek to hide the smile that’s threatening to spread very, very quickly.

“I--that’s how he makes friends.” He watches as confusion clouds over T’Challa’s face, brows furrowing and oh God, he really doesn’t know.

“By asking unknown people if they like cats?”, comes the baffled response.

He’s sure that when Sam had asked this question, he’d expected T’Challa to know the relevance and to get the reference. In this moment, Steve’s not sure how to tell T’Challa that the remark and the subsequent questions refer to his--well, his costume and his alter ego.

“No, he--it’s do with...the claws.”

And that might just be the stupidest thing to come out of his mouth in a long time.

T’Challa turns to look at him with that same confusion, eyes quickly darting away when a loud bang sounds across the living room. Steve sighs and looks in that direction as well, expecting exactly what he finds.

“Get off me, you pile of scrap metal!”

“Give me the remote and I’ll get off!”

“You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands!”

“Fine, I will!”

T’Challa looks at Steve with wide eyes, and all he can do in response is smile in that awkward way parents do when their children misbehave in front of guests.

“Aren’t you going to stop them?”, he asks, eyes moving back and forth between the squabbling children and Steve.

He closes his eyes and sighs, “I’ll be right back.”

Against his better judgement, he walks over to the sofa and pointedly clears his throat. All movement ceases as two pairs of eyes look up at him from where Bucky has Sam pinned to the sofa, his face smushed into the cushions, as they struggle to get control of the remote.

It’s a testament to how far Bucky’s come in his recovery that he doesn’t look even a little guilty when just a few months ago, he’d have turned red and scrambled off of Sam with a muttered apology if Steve’d looked at him like he currently is. Now, he stays where he is, metal hand firmly enclosed around Sam’s wrist who weakly tries to hold on to the remote.

Sam doesn’t look the least bit remorseful either, instead he decides to play the victim card and starts telling Steve how his idiot of a friend doesn’t respect the sacred rule of remote possession.

Steve looks to Bucky, gives him that look Nat calls his ‘welcome to an all-american guilt trip, please buckle in’ look.

There’s a silent battle of wills before Bucky concedes and sits up away from Sam, who crows in pride as if he’s just defeated an army all by himself.

Unbothered by any of this, Steve turns around and walks back over to T’Challa only to hear a high-pitched scream behind him followed by, “Get your cold-ass arm away from me before I get an industrial sized magnet and stick your ass to it!”

He can only roll his eyes at the childishness because he knows what’s happened without having to turn around, it’s happened too many times in this house. Bucky likes to startle Sam by leaning in without a warning and pushing his metal arm against Sam’s neck or face or any uncovered skin he can find - the metal arm which usually feels colder than a beer fresh out of the fridge. And nine times out of ten, Sam screams in that exact same tone like someone’s just pushed him into an ice cold bath.

Steve walks over to T’Challa and sits back down in his chair, paying no mind to Bucky as he aggressively hugs Sam - what has his life become, he wonders.

“Do they quarrel like this often?”, T’Challa asks in all his naive glory and as someone who’s only ever seen Sam and Bucky in fight mode and been spared from Steve’s personal brand of babysitting hell.

“You have no idea.” He hopes the pain is evident in his tone, hopes that T’Challa will offer to help by pushing them squabbling children there off of a cliff.

No such luck.

“Does he ask your friend Bucky about cats too?"

Steve just nods because that’s much easier for everyone.

It reminds him of that time they’d been in Canada and Sam had turned to him with a drink in his hand and gone, “You want an ice cap, Iced Cap?”

Steve remembers how he’d felt then and just nods and smiles politely.

***

***

Sam doesn’t like feeling guilt and remorse clouding his every thought which contrasts very sharply with his friendship with Steve Rogers of the Captain Guilt Trip fame.

Over the years, Steve and he have found their rhythm and said rhythm has been going very well except for one tiny, little problem - Fucky ‘the giant asshole’ Barnes.

Still, they’re doing just fine. They’ve all accepted that some things are beyond control and one of those things is the very volatile relationship between Sam and Bucky.

Steve rolls his eyes, huffs and groans but if he really had a problem with Sam, he’d tell him. And he hasn’t so far. Sam reckons he’s helping Bucky by keeping him engrossed in their tiffs and bucks - pun intended.

As much as he understands Steve’s reasons behind finding Bucky and helping him, and as much as he likes living here with them, he doesn’t have to like the man himself. It’s not that he dislikes Bucky--it’s just that...he dislikes him. Strongly. Very strongly. And Bucky dislikes him right back.

Anyway, the point is he and Bucky are on the same page and no one’s been hurt very seriously during their, erm--altercations. So, there hasn’t been any need of an intervention of any sort to cool things down.

Which is why it irks him when the Cat Prince of Righteousness and Virtuosity leans over at the dinner table and tells him, “You should try to be more sympathetic to Mr. Barnes. He has lost a great deal.”

Sam can’t help the shell-shocked expression on his face or the unnatural way his neck swings to stare at the man beside him.

“Excuse me?”

He looks surprised like he’d expected Sam to just agree with him and not even question it. Well, clearly, he doesn’t know Sam Wilson.

“Steve tells me you quarrel with Mr. Barnes often and as someone who is recovering from that level of abuse--”

“When did you get a medical degree? And Steve should keep his mouth shut about things that don’t concern him.”

He feels the temperature drop the second the words are out of his mouth. Steve, who’s sat across from him at the table is looking at him with wide eyes. Well, Sam would look at himself with wide eyes if he could.

Because did he just call Captain America a nosy bastard?

He did.

Everyone at the table is quiet, tensely so. The only person who isn’t painfully still is Bucky. He’s grinding his teeth and growling at Sam like a spoiled bulldog and if Sam wasn’t mortified at the words he’s just uttered, he would be growling right back.

Needless to say, Steve looks like a confused puppy with his wide blue eyes and his mouth hanging open.

The first one to speak is T’Challa: “I was just making a suggestion to Sam--”

“Bad kitty!” And just like that, the tension disperses as Steve throws his head back and the sound of his laughter echoes through the dead silent house. Bucky seems to be struggling to keep his death glare in place and Sam doesn’t think when he reaches out to pat T’Challa on the arm, “No, you’re not. You’re a good kitty.”

There’s a fresh round of laughter as everyone but the cat in question enjoys his stellar sense of humour.

T’Challa looks about two seconds away from scratching Sam’s face off so he wisely turns back to his food and doesn’t say anything else about cats for the rest of the night.

***

“Sam, can I talk to you for a second?”

He’s been dreading this moment for two days now.

“Yeah, I’m coming.” Two days since he lashed out at the dinner table and called Steve nosy. He hasn’t even slept well for the last two nights, dreaming of disappointing Captain America and spiralling into a hole of sadness and self-doubt. He's also been dreaming of T'Challa coming to inform him that Wakanda has issued a beheading order because Sam disrespected their king. And he doesn't doubt for one second that T'Challa would personally behead him for the little 'bad kitty' joke he'd made in his nervousness the other day. 

Shaking those thoughts away, he follows Steve out onto the little balcony and waits, waits for Steve to get mad or maybe blame him or--

“I’m sorry.”

_Not that, he wasn’t expecting that._

“What for?”, he asks, confusion very clear in his high-pitched tone.

Steve hangs his head and shakes it before saying, “I haven’t been fair to you. And I most certainly haven’t been gracious--”

“Wait, stop!”

Steve stops mid-sentence, head snapping up and eyes wide as he looks at Sam curiously.

He can feel his heart pounding, can feel nervousness sitting in a tight knot in his chest and his voice almost breaks when he speaks. “Are you leaving me? Is someone dying--are you dying? What is happening?!”

Steve frowns, his eyebrows coming together over his eyes as he shakes his head - a hint of uncertainty in the motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam.

“Uh, no. No one’s dying,”, he says, not very convincingly.

“Then why are you saying weird things? Weird things that are so untrue it’s not even okay, and you are saying them. You, Captain America! Is the world ending again? What do you know?”

Steve’s lips twitch like he’s hiding a smile, and Sam looks on as the man takes a deep breath and says, “The world is not ending.”

_Yeah, no. He doesn’t believe that._

“Well, then why are you lying? I didn’t even know you _could_ lie.”

There’s that little twitch again. Man, this man would be shit at poker, he thinks.

“I’m not lying, Sam. Just admitting to things I have been thinking about lately.”

“You mean after what the Cat Lord of Wakanda said.”

Steve snorts, hangs his head to hide the smile that Sam knows is there. When he looks up again, his face is serious.

“I haven’t thanked you for taking my side--”

“That’s not true. You--”

And for the first time ever, Steve Rogers cuts him off. It’s a strange feeling, and only makes his earlier doubts of a world ending event more solid.

“I didn’t, not properly. You could have stepped away at any time, it would be much easier to not associate with me. But you stuck by my side, and I am very grateful for that, Sam.”

“Is this a dream? Oh man, am I dying?”

“No one’s dying.”

“That’s a disappointment, I know a few people who’d better die soon or I’ll personally--”

“Sam.” And that’s the second time he’s been interrupted by Captain America in less than two minutes. Shit, that apocalypse theory seems more and more likely by the minute.

“Sorry, go on,”, he says miming to zip his mouth shut.

“I didn’t realise it till T’Challa said it the other night. About Bucky and you fighting all the time, and I always thought it was just how you were with him. Then, I spent the last two days observing and I think you’re giving him something to do. And I think he enjoys whatever it is that you do with each other.”

“Has he said it? Did he tell you he enjoys the bickering and banter?”

“He hasn’t. He doesn’t know I’m talking to you about this, it’s just something I noticed.”

“Well, I’m not sure what you want me to say. I mean, I don’t like the guy very much and I’m definitely not trying to make him feel better or anything.”

Steve doesn’t respond, he just looks at Sam with his unnaturally blue eyes.

“I’m not saying it,”, he insists but they both know that that look from Steve is going to melt him in three, two, one-- “Fine! I’m only going to admit this once and if he ever finds out, you and I are done.”

Steve nods at him to continue.

“I don’t--I don’t really hate him. I mean I don’t like him either, I just...I guess I’m used to him now. And sometimes I pick arguments with him on purpose when he looks like a post Elizabeth-rejection Mr. Darcy and glowers at everything. Give him something to mope about, I guess.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, thank you for taking my confession, father. And can we please never do that again?”

“Sure.”

He rushes into the house and into his room before Steve can give him another puppy dog look and make him spill all his guts. No, Sam Wilson is not spilling all his secrets to an unusually charming Captain America.

***

***

BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Steve turns around to see the red lights on the machine, and the loud beeping that makes everyone freeze and look over to them. Sam and he had walked through the door first and Bucky was right behind them when--

“Sir, please step out of the line.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, he can feel his brain wanting to melt and come out of his ears. God, he’s never known frustration like this.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Sam covering his mouth with his hand. That’s when it clicks in.

He turns to his friend, all calm and composed and asks: “Sam, did you do this on purpose? Did you pick this place on purpose?”

A look of utter innocence replaces the hint of a smile and that’s his first clue.

The second is when Sam shrugs and says, “I don’t know what you mean.”

Meanwhile, Bucky is shooting death glares at the poor guard who is currently stuttering out apologies in between telling Bucky he can’t go inside till the beeping on the metal detector stops. Steve’s worried the guy’s going to burst into flames any second, with how fiercely Bucky’s eyes are drilling into him. And he’s sure that if he steps a little closer, he’ll hear Bucky growling.

He sighs and walks over to where the poor guard is currently patting down his friend. The poor guard who’s got suspiciously wet eyes.

“Buck, let’s go to that other place.”

He just nods in response, eyes still fixed on the guard who mouths a thank you at Steve when Bucky finally looks away from the guy and turns his back to leave.

In the car, Sam and Bucky trade insults all the way back home.

***

T’Challa sends him a note in the mail. Like an actual, honest to god, note. With a picture of some kind of a bird on it. 

Sam wonders if that’s a coincidence until he doesn’t because the other side of the note says: _Saw this and thought of you and your little bird costume, Mr. Falcon. - T’Challa, His Highness, King of Wakanda_

He grinds his teeth in annoyance, especially when Steve takes the note from his hand and bursts out laughing.

“I guess he figured out about the cat jokes.”

That gives him an idea and he puts on his jogging shoes to go that quaint little gift shop down the street that sells fridge magnets and postcards. He finds a perfect postcard and smiles all the way back till he realizes he’s not sure where to send it.

Thankfully, Steve knows and then, it’s just a matter of dropping it off and waiting for the response.

He feels happy and excited all through the day till he finds T’Challa’s note super-glued to the fridge.

And there’s only one motherfucker in this house obsessed with superglue.

“Little metal arm shit!”

***

***

They’ve been at the same gas station for twenty minutes when the person behind the counter inside the little convenience store comes out and walks up to them--well, to Bucky.

Steve and Sam had tried explaining to him about the meters but he was stubbornly refusing to listen and wanted to do it on his own so they stepped back and let him do it.

Now, the old man from the store is standing beside Bucky asking him, “Sir? Have you used this meter before?”

Bucky doesn’t look away from the meter at all, just shakes his head very minutely and says, “I’ve not used this machine but is this--I think it’s--hello?”

He narrows his eyes at the meter like he’s expecting an answer. When nothing happens, he does the sheepish little smile he does sometimes when he’s not sure of what he’s doing.

Steve looks away instantly, he doesn’t want a repeat of the last time Bucky had done this little smile and Sam had had to clear his throat very pointedly for Steve to realize that he was staring.

In the present where they are right now and not inside Steve’s head, Bucky licks his lips; looks up at Steve for confirmation - which the only confirmation Steve can give him is that he’s about to spontaneously combust any second - before looking down at the meter again and says, “I’m Bucky. I need milk.”

They stand around for another ten minutes before Bucky gets too frustrated and almost punches the meter. They drag him home, getting him a nice little burger to make him stop hissing about stupid machines of this century.

***

 

***

“Stop glaring at the microwave, that’s not going to do anything.”

“GIVE ME MY HOT POCKET!”

“Oh yeah, yelling at the microwave always works, though. Nice plan!”

***

Steve’s away on some solo mission or something, which neither he nor Bucky were invited to so they’ve been left alone with each other since early this morning. It’s been going well, mostly they’ve ignored each other and stuck to their own routines till Bucky had the single good idea he’s had in seven decades.

Sitting out on the balcony, sharing a few beers.

Sam’d thought it’d be nice, poke fun at each other while slowly getting drunk, but that’s not what this feels like.

Instead, a rough voice croaks out, “So you’re his new best friend, then.”

Sam looks up at the disappointment in his voice, and finds his head bowed down.

“Dude, he spent two years looking for you after you left him half-dead in a river. Well, technically, I spent two years looking for you but y’know. So I doubt anyone can replace you as the best friend, try as they might.”

Dude’s head snaps up in surprise. “You were looking for me?”

“I was looking into leads to get to you, yes. As a favour to Steve.”

“Why?”

“Well, he was reeling from the shitstorm that was Ultron so he asked me to look into leads.”

“I mean why did you do it?”

And that’s what he keeps asking himself because he really doesn’t know why he spent all that time chasing down cold leads just to find a ruthless HYDRA assassin. He tells Bucky what he always told himself. “Steve’s a friend, and he asked me to help him so I did.”

He stops there and doesn’t say the most important piece of the puzzle: _I trust him and he trusts you._

He’s quiet for a long moment, probably hearing the unsaid words anyway. Then: “You’re a good friend.”

Sam can’t help but look at him then, the uncertainty and the insecurity clear as day in those steel blue eyes. He’s saying that Sam’s a good friend when he isn’t. And god dammit, _when did he sign up to be a therapist for an amnesiac kill machine turned tortured soul?_

“If you’re expecting me to console you, I’m not doing that.”

“I’m not.”

And they leave it at that.

Until, Sam can’t help it and says something he’ll most definitely regret in the morning: “He was sure that he’d find you, and that he’d save you. Don’t know how he knew, but he did. I’m glad he did.”

Bucky sits there, perfectly still, staring down at his metal hand. Then, he scoffs and looks up at Sam and in all seriousness whispers, “You’ve had too much to drink, I think.”

***

He’s hungry and hungover and hurting all over and there’s that bastard with his perfect hair practically swaying in the little draft of air coming from the window.

God, Sam hates him, he hates a lot of things right now - the loud beeping of the microwave, the whirring of the blender, the bright light bathing the entire room in a blinding--well, brightness. And most of all, he hates stupid Bucky’s stupid hair.

“Can you not?”, he croaks from a throat that’s drier than a frat boys’ lips.

The twat stops making whatever he’s making to look up at Sam with furrowed brows. “What?”

He lifts his hand to wave in the general direction of Bucky: “That--the whole L'oreal commercial thing you’ve got going on. Can you not, for one day?”

He really doesn’t get how, after drinking almost twice as much as him, this asshole isn’t lying face down on the floor, writhing in pain with a headache. How he can stand here in the kitchen, actually stand up, and make food with his hair all flowy and his face all fresh.

He also doesn’t look like a parched, stranded in the middle of a desert tourist when he opens his mouth and says, “I don’t understand.”

Sam groans, with every last scrap of energy left in him, and hisses: “Can’t you just have one bad hair day? Is that too much to ask for?”

“I..”

Steve’s practically giggling in the corner and Sam is absolutely done with these two supermodel looking motherfuckers. He looks down at his own sweat covered shirt that he fell asleep in and swallows down on yet another urge to throw up; he doesn’t belong in this house with these America’s Next Top Model looking assholes.

A glass landing on the counter in front of him breaks him away from his thoughts and he looks up to see Steve standing there smiling at him.

“It’s for the hangover,”, he offers and pats him on the shoulder.

“Can you stop being perfect for one goddamn second?”, he finds himself asking.

“Are you still drunk?”, comes the reply as if Sam implying that Steve Rogers is perfect is just drunk talk.

“He’s beauty, he’s grace; he’s the king of 50 States. And he’s modest.”

Steve snickers and walks away, and only then does Sam realize that he got the reference--his eyes widen and he yells, “When did you watch Miss Congeniality?” before realising he’s hungover and hurting and should not be speaking, much less yelling.

He collapses back on the counter, groaning in pain while the L'oreal commercial keeps chopping up whatever the hell he’s chopping as his Chestnut #32 hair does stupidly attractive things.

***

***

“Tell you what I want, what I really really want. So tell me what you want, what you really really want! I wanna, I wanna I wanna, I wanna, I wanna really really really…”

Steve turns to Sam wide-eyed, silently asking him what the hell has he done? Sam just shrugs and goes back to staring at the little dance performance happening in their living room.

Steve shakes off the surprise and calls out to his friend, “Bucky?”

Bucky spins around like he hadn’t noticed that someone’s been staring at him for at least five minutes while he moves around the room doing some kind of bizarre dance.

“Oh, hey!”

Steve’s not sure if there’s actually a slight flush on Bucky’s cheeks disappearing under his stubble or if he’s imagined it. Rather than lingering on that thought, Steve asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,”, he mumbles and gingerly puts down the tv remote like Steve and Sam didn’t just catch him using the remote like a microphone to sing whatever it is he was singing.

In the pin-drop silence of the house, Sam bursts out laughing and has to turn away to cover his mouth, he’s losing it that bad.

Bucky looks a little more flushed than he did a moment ago, his eyes are darting all over the floor but they won’t meet Steve’s eyes.

“This song came on the tv, it’s really catchy,”, he says by way of an explanation and Steve really doesn’t want one. He’s suddenly transported back to a time when Bucky would jump around the tent singing ‘Star Spangled Man’ just to see Steve embarrassed enough to dig himself a hole and disappear into it.

At the time, Steve’d always wonder if maybe Bucky was having trouble with being the less noticed one. Bucky had grumbled and groaned a few times when the girls had flocked to Steve, but then he’d make a joke about how he’s a mere mortal who couldn’t compete with Captain America and they’d laugh it off.

He blinks away the bittersweet memories, and ignores a sharp stab right in his chest reminding him they’re both stuck in a near immortal life now.

“It’s better that you sing this one,”, he mutters hoping Bucky won’t hear it.

He doesn’t.

Or so Steve thinks, because two nights later Steve walks into the living room to find Bucky humming something under his breath till he sees Steve and belts out, “Who’s strong and brave, here to save the American Way? Who vows to fight like a man for what’s right night and day? Who will campaign door to doo--”

Steve turns right around and walks out of the room, the sound of Bucky’s laughter following him all the way to his bedroom.

***

Just as payback, Steve starts to hum that song under his breath - the one he and Sam caught Bucky singing. He makes sure Buck is coming to the kitchen for his breakfast and when he’s sure, he starts singing very softly so it’s not apparent what he’s saying. He sees Bucky start at finding Steve in the kitchen before he schools his features and goes to the cupboards.

Once Bucky’s standing beside him pouring hot water into a cup for his tea, Steve picks up his volume - just loud enough that the words hang between them. And the very next second out of the corner of his eye, he sees Bucky freezing with a spoon of sugar mid-air.

Steve doesn’t let on, doesn’t dare look up at him directly but he sure as hell doesn’t stop singing and it’s only a matter of time till-- “Rogers!”

Bucky’s on him within seconds, his cup of tea long forgotten as he chases Steve around the living room and eventually out the door and down the street because Steve won’t stop running and Bucky won’t give up chasing him.

It reminds him of that time he had lied and said that he’d given up applying to the army and Bucky had found out and yelled at him for giving him ulcers with how he much worries for Steve. A few choice words had been uttered and it had ended with Bucky chasing Steve down a street yelling, “Come here, you little shit! You’ll pay for this, Stevie! Wait till I catch you!”

He runs, head thrown back and loud peals of laughter ringing in the air around them as Bucky chases him with a fierce determination on his face. He gets very close once, his fingers brush the back of Steve’s shirt but then he speeds up and looks back over his shoulder and yells, “You’ll never catch me, Buck!”

All he hears in response is a frustrated growl, and somehow they end up circling seven blocks and coming right back to the house - panting and unable to explain why they’ve just ran around the neighbourhood when Sam asks.

It becomes a running joke from then on, he starts singing the song and Bucky turns bright red. And in return, Buck has started spontaneously breaking into song about the Star Spangled Man.

These are new memories, Steve tells himself; new ones that no one can take away from them.

***

Steve’s on the phone with someone, pacing the length of the living room and going off on somebody on the other side about Tony recruiting a child to go on dangerous missions. Sam notices that beside him, Bucky’s coiled tight like a spring and glaring holes into Steve’s moving form.

He doesn’t know what’s happening but whatever it is, he expects it’ll be good. The anticipation of it is almost killing him - Bucky’s practically vibrating with energy and Steve must know he’s being glared at, in fact Sam’s surprised his clothes haven’t caught fire from how badly Bucky’s glaring.

Sam’s head probably looks like a revolving door, swiveling from murderous!Bucky to sadly ignorant!Steve and back to growling-under-his-breath!Bucky. He picks up a handful of popcorn and shovels it into his mouth without looking away from the scene.

And the second Steve gets off the phone, Bucky’s off the sofa and getting in his face with an accusatory finger touching Steve’s chest.

Sam pulls the bowl of popcorn onto his lap and settles down for the show.

Bucky sounds like he’s suppressing about a hundred years of anger and frustration when he says, “I’m sorry, are you - Steve Rogers of the ‘I’m having an asthma attack and heart murmurs while bleeding from seven places but I could do this all day’ fame - yelling at someone for reckless behaviour?”

Steve is absolutely still, staring at a spot on the wall and doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. All the while, Bucky is glaring at him with the heat of a thousand suns but Steve doesn’t dare move an inch.

Then, Bucky huffs and walks away with a muttered, “I thought so.”

“What was that all about?”, he asks Steve and only gets a ‘Forget you saw anything’ look from him.

Oh, but he’s far from forgetting anything.

He dials Natasha’s number the second Steve walks out of the living room.

***

 

***

In yet another twist of fate, Steve’s off somewhere saving the world and once again, it’s only the two of them at home. He takes one look at the asshole sitting beside him on the sofa yawning at the droning voice of Sir David Attenborough narrating an African safari, and knows that they’re going to end up on the balcony once again.

And they do, bottles of beer are scattered around their feet as they delve into yet another delicate topic left untouched so far. In fact, Sam’s sure that Bucky hasn’t talked about these things even with Steve, and the beer is the only thing that makes him brave enough to disclose this stuff to Sam.

Well, as long as they can pretend in the morning that they didn’t have a heart to heart, Sam’s glad he can of assistance to the half-drunk man beside him. After all, he remembers how often he’d pass out drunk in some random pub after he came home without his best friend, pass out drunk after spilling his guts to other drunks he’d probably never see again.

He takes a deep breath and answers the question he’s been asked.

“I’ve never seen him like that. I mean I only knew him a few years but still, it was a surprise to see him refuse to sign - but the real shock was how adamant he was and how selfishly so. Before that, he was always the first to apologize, to be full of guilt, to be ready to sacrifice.” He pauses, thinks back to the Steve Rogers before he knew anything about the Winter Soldier.

Sighing, he continues: “And then, he found you and all of that changed in the blink of an eye.” Bucky starts beside him, clenches a hand around the arm of his chair but otherwise stays quiet. “It’s like a switch inside him flicked, This--this dark side became clear, this side he’d been hiding for decades, the selfishness and the desperation that he was hiding so well just slipped right out; I never thought I’d say this about him.”

Bucky just sits there, listening and nodding along as if to let Sam know that he’s listening and filing it all away to go over it later.

“I mean, he’s not a bad man, he can’t be. You know how he is, he can never be anything but good. What I’m saying is, that day I saw him as Steve Rogers more than Captain America; saw his fears, his desperation, and his faults. Captain America doesn’t have a weakness, but Steve does. And that’s you.”

Bucky swallows sharply and there’s an audible click when he does, it’s like he’s pushing past something lodged in his throat and Sam knows what that feels like. Remembers feeling this way when he’d lost Riley and had to come home without him. Every time someone had talked about him or asked about him, Sam’d felt a lump in his throat and he’d swallow it down just like that.

“I didn’t want to be.”

The words hang in the air between them, like an anchor holding down seven decades of pain and misery. He doesn’t seem to want to say anything else so Sam asks, “What?”

“I didn’t want to be his weakness.”

Sam hears it, hears the regret underneath the words even if they were whispered so softly that anyone could miss them. He relaxes in his chair, takes a sip of the beer and lets the words sink in.

Then, they finally do.

His head snaps up to look at the man beside him, a bowed head and shielded eyes.

“You remembered him after the helicarrier, didn’t you?”

He looks up, and his eyes tell Sam everything he needs to know.

“How long--” He takes a deep breath, prepares himself for possibly the biggest truth he’s had to bear in a long time. “When did you remember?”

Bucky takes a moment to answer, his eyes are stuck on a spot near his feet and he doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then, it looks like he makes a decision--looks right at Sam and says, “Two weeks after the bridge.”

“Ha-ah.” He feels the air whoosh out of him, feels like he can’t breathe at all. Oh god, Steve doesn’t know--Steve has no clue.

He forces himself to breathe because he can see Bucky losing his courage, and Sam knows that something like this will haunt him for a long time if he keeps carrying the burden of it.

“Why didn’t you try to find him?”

He shrugs, shrugs like someone’s just asked him if he likes chocolate.

He sits beside Sam chewing on his lip, twirling the beer bottle in his hand like he’s thinking about the time he spent remembering, and running from everyone including Steve.

And then the cold truth of it sinks in, Bucky had been hiding from Steve for two years. He remembered and he purposefully hid for two years.

“You need to tell him.”

“I don’t want to hurt him anymore than I already have.”

“D’you think he’d want you to carry this around with you? Along with everything else?”

Bucky shakes his head, not even considering what Sam’s just said. He does it so casually, so nonchalantly like this hasn’t been a burden on him for years.

Sam’s about to argue when Bucky looks at him with oddly sparkling eyes - he’s pleading, that’s what it means. He doesn’t say it but his eyes make it very clear that he just wants Sam to listen and to understand and not push him.

He doesn’t agree, he thinks Steve has a right to know but he’s not going to force anyone into anything, much less the one person who’s been forced to do things against his will for seventy years already.

So he sips from his bottle and waits till Bucky finally breaks the silence. “Tell me about when he found out. What did he do?”

“He took a stand, an unshakeable stand. Everyone who knew him stood frozen because we’ve all messed up and we’ve all got our secrets--our dark sides. We’ve all done questionable, reckless things but he never seemed to be out of line, not once. He was the only one who wouldn’t just pick up a gun and shoot at everything that moved. We all were starting to think that he had no weaknesses and then you walked in.”

He pauses to make sure Bucky is looking at him when he says the next part, “The minute he found you, he took bigger risks than any of us ever did or thought him capable of. It wasn’t something anyone saw coming, not from him.”

He chuckles, thinking back to the utter shock on everyone’s face when Steve had first declared his decision on the Accords. He remembers Tony looking like he’d been betrayed. And every single person looking at Steve like they didn’t recognize him when he’d fought his way to Romania and to Bucky. “It was almost beautiful in a chaotic way - that kind of reckless, absolute abandon - it was like watching him come undone.”

Bucky clears his throat, as if willing away the swell of emotion Sam can clearly see on his face. He’s oddly quiet, like he used to be when he first came here, and his voice is soft as he speaks, “That’s why I didn’t go to him. Because I knew that he would do something stupid and he did. You know about how he saved me that first time the 107th was taken? How he flew into the HYDRA base all by himself and got me out?”

Sam nods, because who doesn’t know the story of Captain America’s first mission. He remembers reading about it as a child, remembers going to the museum and listening to that same old recording – _Steve Rogers and James ‘Buchanan’ Barnes were childhood friends..._

“He did that because he thought I _might_ be alive, he wasn’t even sure.” Bucky stops and looks at Sam, pauses significantly like he wants him to catch on to something.

He does: _If Steve flew blind into a HYDRA base when he wasn’t even sure if he’d find Bucky, then what would he do if he knew for a fact that Bucky was alive and being tortured?_

He continues, “On that bridge, he tried to make me remember and I did, some of it. Then, I went back and the moment I let slip that I knew the man on the bridge, they put a piece of cloth between my teeth and pushed hundreds of watts of electricity through me. When I woke up again, I knew I had to run. Steve’s voice was in my head, calling my name and saying things that made no sense.”

“Then what did you do?”, he can’t help the curiosity now that he knows a little about what was happening on the other side of the fence while he was running around chasing cold leads for Steve.

Bucky licks his lips and waits - as if contemplating if he should say this, as if there’s something bigger than what he’s already shared - before nodding and saying: “I followed him, stalked him on missions. When I saw him on a mission somewhere in Russia, I remembered when he’d saved me. Back in ‘43, waking up to see Steve standing there. And in that second, I knew that I couldn’t let him destroy himself over someone who wasn’t even there anymore.”

There’s a sadness to those last words, remorse about something he didn’t have any control over. He’s not to blame for HYDRA torturing him or wiping away his memory or taking away the person Steve’s been chasing for years.

Dread coils in Sam’s chest when he recognizes something in Bucky’s expression, something he knows all too well.

He speaks softly, knows that there’s no rushing into something like this. “Did you ever--try to...you know?”

Bucky looks up sharply, realization startlingly clear in his eyes. He nods. “I tried, once.” He bites down on his lip, almost biting through the skin before he stops--just barely stops from getting blood on his teeth.

His voice is far away, like he’s somewhere else as he answers, “Closed my eyes and tried to jump but I remembered that happening once before and Steve’s face looking down at me, crying out in agony. I couldn’t go through with it.”

Sam isn’t aware of speaking and yet that’s his voice saying the words: “He kept you alive.”

“He did.”

“You said you heard him saying things that didn’t make any sense. What’d you hear?”

“I’m with you till the end of the line.”

They sit in a thunderous silence, those words echoing over and over in Sam’s mind as he watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He’s stock-still, looking up at the sky as a slight smile lingers on his lips.

Sam has to look away because it feels like intruding.

Sighing, he wonders just how much of an asshole Bucky will be tomorrow morning to make up for all the heavy talking they’ve done tonight. If he groans, it’s only because he’s expecting to be ambushed with that ice cold arm first thing in the morning.

***

And just as expected, Bucky is smirking evilly when Sam finally trudges over to the kitchen around noon the next day, feeling like death warmed over. One look at that smirk and he knows a good one is coming.

Sure enough.

“There’s a pigeon on the balcony, I think he’s looking for you.”

Steve snorts milk out of his nose, showering the entire kitchen counter in white.

Sam takes a deep breath, opens his mouth to retaliate and then runs to the bathroom to throw up.

***

It isn’t until 4 pm that he feels better, having been fed that gross hangover shake twice. When he’s sure than standing up won’t make him want to dig a grave and lie down in it, he wanders into the living room to find Bucky and Steve watching a black and white film.

He tiptoes his way to the fridge, nosing around, when a loud voice yells, “That pigeon looked real disappointed, Wilson. That’s no way to treat family!”

Collecting the leftovers from lunch, he slams the fridge door closed and turns to look at the smug bastard watching him from the sofa.

Without giving it much thought, he points at Bucky and says, “You want a fight, Barnes? Is that what you want? Come talk to me when you know what you want, what you really really want.”

Bucky grunts and turns back to his film, leaving a very satisfied looking Sam with a cheshire cat grin on his face. Oh, sweet revenge.

Just as he’s turning to leave the room, Bucky walks by him and hisses like a motherfucking Basilisk.

“Did you just hiss at me?” He looks at Steve, who’s already on high alert: “Did he just hiss at me?”

“I don’t hiss,”, comes the response.

“He says while hissing at me.”

Shaking his head, he goes back to his room and thinks of the frown on Bucky’s face when he mentioned that song. Hmmm, maybe he should do some research on the Spice Girls.

Yup, that’s exactly what he’ll do.

***

***

Dinner is a disaster because Sam’s been too sick to cook and Steve only knows how to boil and steam things. So, while Sam was star-fished on the huge divan in the corner of the living room, and Steve was exploring through the world of internet recipes, Bucky decided he would make dinner.

He said he knew how to make a mean stew, Sam and Steve were both skeptical but in face of starvation, they agreed.

It was all going well, delicious smells were wafting through the house and they were getting their hopes up right until the moment when Bucky got distracted by something or other and disappeared into his bedroom.

Sam was the first to notice something was wrong as he rose on his elbows to sniff at that weird smell and was off the divan and running into kitchen in seconds yelling, “Something’s burning! Steve, it’s burning!”

Steve’d been too engrossed in some video about panda sandwiches - whatever they are - and only noticed the smell once Sam’d run over and turned the stove off.

They took the pot off the stove and hurriedly went to look for Bucky who had curled up around a pillow and was sound asleep looking like a cute ass motherfucker so neither of them had the heart to wake him up.

Now, an hour later, they’re all standing in the kitchen with grumbling stomachs and a burnt smell around them. Bucky reaches forward and picks up the pot, pokes the very solid mass of vegetables inside and says, “This is stew.”

Steve shakes his head in response, “This is ridiculous!”

“THIS IS SPARTA!”

Two blank faces look back at him and he just wants to hit his head on a wall somewhere.

“Come on! Nothing? You don’t get that reference at all?”

“N-no”, Steve looks divided between answering him and looking down sadly at what used to be their dinner.

“That’s it! We’re watching 300 for our next movie night.”

They both nod but Sam has a feeling they didn’t actually hear a word he’s just said.

Sighing, he goes to pick up the phone and asks, “We’ll order in, any requests?”

And that’s how he ends up introducing Captain America and his long lost love to the goldmine that is Indian food.

And if Steve’s face and neck are absolutely flushing by the time he’s eaten his first naan with shahi paneer, Sam doesn’t mention it. He does, however, notice the way Bucky’s eyes keep straying over to Steve and his very flushed skin.

Clearing his throat, he looks right at Bucky when he says, “We should do this more often.”

Steve looks up from his plate, mouth parted around a burning tongue probably, and nods. Sam goes in for the kill, “Maybe then you won’t turn burning red like you’ve just been propositioned by a hooker in a church.”

Bucky chokes on his biryani and Sam will count that as revenge for the note that’s still super-glued to the fridge.

***

 

***

“Do you still draw?”

The question comes as such a shock that he freezes for a moment till Bucky nudges his side with an elbow followed by a soft, “Steve?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.” He looks up into steel blue eyes, surprise making his brain run at a lazy pace.

“Show me sometime?”

He nods, completely dumbfounded and Bucky gets up and walks away without another word. He doesn’t know how long he sits there, staring at the empty spot beside him on the sofa.

“Steve? You alright, my man?”

He looks up to see Sam watching him from the other sofa, his eyebrows knit in concern.

Nodding, he is nodding and his head won’t stop the movement. He should stop nodding, maybe that’s why Sam’s snickering.

“He remembered.”

“Yeah, he’s been remembering a lot of things recently, hasn’t he?”

Steve doesn’t know how to tell Sam that in another lifetime, he had shown Bucky his half-torn sketchbook and Bucky had looked at the drawings with eyes wide in amazement. That in that lifetime, Bucky had hunted down the bullies who’d cornered Steve and mocked him, torn his sketchbook page by page. And in that lifetime, that day, Bucky had looked at Steve - all his protests about not being worth the trouble silenced with that look - and said, ‘Stevie, I’m with you till the end of the line.’

“Yeah,”, is all he can manage as Sam stares on.

***

He jerks away and looks around bleary, trying to figure out where he is and why he’s awake when he hears it again--

“Sam, no! Stop!”

Before he knows what’s happening, he’s throwing off the covers and rushes out of his room as soon as the distressed voice registers - it’s Bucky - he almost slips on the rug in the hallway before finding his balance and following the sound. Bucky makes another high-pitched sound and he’s--

\--sitting on the balcony pointing with his metal hand at a flock of pigeons around his feet and talking to them, “Sam, stop pecking at my feet.”

He looks up to see the real Sam standing there and grins, “Oh hey, I was just talkin’ to--”

Sam doesn’t need to hear this, he turns around and walks away or else he’ll push the asshole off the balcony and then Steve’ll probably kill him.

It’s for everyone’s health and safety, he reasons.

***

Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Bucky moves about on the sofa so he can look at Sam in the kitchen. Steve turns subtly to see Sam pouring himself a glass of milk just as Bucky asks, “Can I get the rest of that--”

Without waiting for him to finish, Sam picks up the carton and brings it to his mouth, staring right at Bucky and drains the rest of the milk before Buck’s even off the sofa.

“Oops, we’re all out.” Sam’s smiling with a milk mustache and Steve can feel a headache coming on. _Why does he have to deal with this? Why can’t these two just get along?_

Bucky turns back to him with a look that’s half ‘I’m going to strangle your friend’ and half ‘Get me milk. Now’.

Steve holds up a hand to stop him from doing any kind of strangling or maiming, and goes to get his wallet off the tv stand before walking toward the front door.

“I’ll get milk,”, he says almost as an afterthought.

The door clicks shut behind him and he waves at the little girl across the street who always smiles at him. Absent-mindedly, he smiles back while really thinking about Bucky and hoping that he doesn’t strangle Sam while Steve’s gone--which, no bad idea.

He doubles back into the house, cracks the door open a little and yells, “Sam, you’re coming with me! Come on!”

A second later, Sam rounds the corner and almost runs into him. He looks at Steve with wide eyes filled with relief.

They lock the door behind them and start walking to the corner store silently. No one mentions the milk incident again.

***

Steve is a simple guy, he doesn’t want too much and he likes to think that he’s smart enough to know what he wants.

He’s also the kind of guy who never shies away from going after what he wants - could show you the multiple forged application forms to the United States Army to support that theory.

So, in conclusion: he has always just gone after what he’s wanted.

But--and this is a huge but--that was before Bucky Barnes came back from the dead.

Now, Steve is very much confused about what he wants and not at all ready to go after what he wants.

The only person to pick up on this confusion, and actually bring it up, is Natasha. And in her usual style, she asks him about it as he’s running through a hail of enemy bullets and she’s in the middle of choking a man with her thighs.

He sighs, running for cover and says, “I’m not sure about something. It’s--well, it’s do with Bucky.”

He has to duck behind a tank of some kind of radioactive material to dodge a few bullets coming from somewhere across the room and her voice in his ear is distracting. “Has something happened?”

He doesn’t pretend to know all the ways of this new world but he can tell when someone’s smiling and leading him into a trap. “What do you mean?”, he asks not wanting to fall into said trap so easily.

“I mean, has something happened between you two?”

He almost gets hit with a bullet that time, mind coming to a startled stop thanks to her casual inquiry.

“Why--why would you say that?” He curses mentally at his inability to sound unaffected.

Nat’s definitely smirking on the other side when she speaks. “You mean other than the fact that you defied 117 countries to protect him, became a fugitive for him, and have giant heart eyes every time you talk about him?”

“I--heart eyes? I don’t know what you mean.”

He knows what she means.

“So, you don’t look at him like he’s the answer to all the universe’s questions? And you don’t get this goofy smile on your face every time he ties his hair up? Hold on,", she grunts, punches someone by the sounds of it and continues, "-- I hear he looks very dashing like that, with his 5 o’ clock shadow and his steel blue eyes--”

“Natasha.”

She cuts herself off abruptly, and sighs rather loudly. Steve decides to ignore that especially since he’s got four people around him and it takes quite a few backflips and high kicks to incapacitate them.

Once he’s done that and is walking out onto the main floor to find her fiddling with a computer there, he looks at her with an exasperated look on his face. He really doesn’t want her to get the wrong impression about him and Bucky.

She sighs again and says, “Fine, forget it. So, did something actually happen between you two or what?”

He looks around to check that everyone has been dealt with, it gives him a moment to recollect his thoughts too.

He debates telling her or keeping it to himself. Given the number of hours he’s spent going over this, he knows he won’t be able to find the answer on his own.

“No. Um--well, the other night, he was screaming in his sleep - another nightmare. And his cries sounded so tortured and I went to wake him up, he’s so engrossed in those nightmares and it always takes a while to get him back and just as I was leaning away from him, he—well, we--we sort of--kissed.”

A huge grin breaks out on her face, Steve can feel his ears burning so he turns away from her, inspecting the little room to the side of where the computer is.

He hears her voice in there, a little muffled. “So, that’s why you didn’t want to ask the nurse to a date. And the other women I suggested.”

“No, that’s not it.” He knows he sounds very defensive but it’s not right whatever Nat is thinking, so he rushes out of the room to face her. “I was never like...this. I have never felt like this for anyone.” He mumbles that last bit, hoping she doesn’t catch on.

Her eyebrows go up in surprise and she all but whispers, “Anyone?”

Steve shakes his head, “No”, thinking of Peggy and his affection for her and knowing full well that it was nowhere near as intense as what he’s started feeling for his best friend. “And I never thought I was homosexual.”

She doesn’t say anything, waits for him to get it all out - everything he’s been struggling with these last few days.

“I don’t--I never thought…I’ve always liked women.”

She hums thoughtfully and then says, “It doesn’t mean you are homosexual.”

He looks at her with confusion writ clear across his features, he’s sure. That makes no sense, what she’s saying.

“It doesn’t have to be one or the other; you do know that, right?”

He dumbly shakes his head because no, he doesn’t know that.

“Well, these things exist on a scale rather than one or the other. I mean, I am interested in men for the most part but every once in awhile, I’ve gone to bed with a woman. That doesn’t make me heterosexual or homosexual. Do me a favour, go home and google ‘bisexual’.”

He feels like someone’s just pulled the floor out from under him...it makes so much sense what she’s saying but how? How has he never thought of that or heard of that?

“So, I can love a woman and a man?”

“Well, preferably not at the same time unless you’re in a poly relationship, which I don’t think you’re anywhere near that lesson but yes, in theory.”

He doesn’t get half of what she’s just said so he decides to focus on the part that’s relevant to him. “That’s--it’s possible?”

“You tell me.”

He wants to say yes. Yes, he had felt very strongly about Peggy, he had always looked at dames and thought them beautiful.

And yes, he looks at Bucky and feels like he’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“I think so.”

“Well, there you go.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just stands there awkwardly fiddling with the knife he’s taken to carrying these days, and hears the sound of Natasha’s keyboard clicking in the background.

He thinks about how he doesn’t feel so helpless or useless these days, about how he feels like he has a purpose when he wakes up in the morning. He thinks about how he gave up the biggest part of his identity for Bucky, and how that doesn’t bother him even a little.

Nat’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “So...”

He looks at her and sees the questions in her eyes, doesn’t know how to answer them.

She seems to understand that because she comes closer to him and says, “You gave up your shield for him. I think it’s safe to say there’s something there.”

He nods, doesn’t dare say anything.

“You don’t have to make any decisions or declarations today, you and he have a lifetime to figure that stuff out.”

That makes something inside him loosen up, his whole body sags with relief and she smiles at him. He smiles back and nods toward the door their car is parked outside.

He goes to bed as a new person that night, a person who isn’t carrying around a huge weight on their shoulders. And he holds Bucky through another nightmare, holds him close and waits for the whimpers to die down.

And when steel blue eyes look at him with tears in them, he leans down. Leans down and waits for some kind of sign, sees the eyes slipping closed and feels a wet mouth pressing against his.

His own eyes close at the sensation, at the soft touch of silky lips and the sudden warmth of a hand wrapping around his neck. It’s slow, the lips moving against his and the breath on his mouth when they part and the heat when that hand pulls him down again and the sigh that escapes him when the lips beneath his part to let him in and the moment their tongues meet and when teeth scrape against his lower lip and when they bite and when they suck and when a tongue rakes over the sensitive, bitten spot and when he can’t stay up on his elbows anymore and falls down onto a soft body and when arms come around him and when a mouth maps a path down his jaw and then his neck, across his pulse point.

Steve Rogers is a new man the next morning, and Sam whistles the second he walks into the kitchen.

“That’s a huge ass hickey on your neck there, Cap! They can probably see it all the way in Asgard.”

He turns the colour of the apple in his hand, and Sam laughs so hard he falls off the barstool.

When Bucky wakes up and comes for breakfast, Sam tries the same thing with him but unlike Steve, Bucky doesn’t blush and stutter and stub his toe on the dining table.

No, he walks over to Steve, pins him against the fridge and kisses him so hard that Steve’s knees buckle under him and he has to lean against the body pressing into him.

Sam chokes on his milkshake in the background, but no one pays him any mind.

***

“He threw the microwave out, Nat. Like, he physically picked up the microwave and tossed it to the street, a perfectly working microwave--why? Because Steve went all emotional about how he could make popcorn in two minutes now and how that was great and this new world is so different and then he cried on Tinman’s shoulder. So, of course, Fucky woke up in the middle of the fucking night to throw away our microwave. Our microwave that I use everyday--Natasha, will you stop laughing? This is not fucking funny! These ancient ass motherfuckers out here, making out every five minutes and throwing away my furniture--hello? Natasha?! You can't leave me here with these vintage assholes!”

***

 

**Author's Note:**

> That got away from me so fast, you have no idea. But hopefully, it went to a good place?


End file.
